


All Alright

by jason_todds



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Fluff, M/M, enjolras wears glasses, meet cute kinda, they already knew each other but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 12:46:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4436036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jason_todds/pseuds/jason_todds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is an art student, Enjolras has glasses. They meet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Alright

A radio sat in the corner of university art studio, the fuzzy-sounding music drifting from it often interrupted by sporadic bursts of static. When the music did play, quiet humming or a low voice accompanied it. A scruffy looking twenty-something stood in the middle of the room behind an painting-in-progress. His name was Grantaire, though he usually went by the moniker ‘R’, he delighted in the confusion of people who didn’t understand the pun, and the exasperated dismay of those that did.

One could deduce his major with a glance at his hair, tangled, wild, and looking as though it hadn’t seen the business end of a hairbrush in at least three days. Paint encrusted strands of it hung across his forehead and dipped in and out of his vision as he swayed and mouthed along to the words of a once popular song.

The studio was generously sized, though gave the illusion of being small through the sheer amount of things piled into it. Art supplies were heaped in precarious towers on every available surface, and art work was shoved in all the space that remained. Finished and unfinished pieces were tossed unceremoniously onto drying racks and into storage cupboards.

A packet of cigarettes was discarded on the floor behind him, he’d tucked one behind his ear along with a paintbrush still wet with pigment. A lighter balanced precariously on the corner of his easel, the words ‘I DONT EVEN SMOKE I JUST LIKE TO BURN SHIT’ written on it in lopsided capitals. The lighter was old-silver and didn’t always work, he’d written on it when it had first been given to him, before he’d accepted his first cigarette. The words hadn’t always been a lie.

Bobbing his head to the music, he sung softly, “And I know, oh no, you’ve fallen from the sun,” eyes closing briefly, he flicked his hand up and down in a sharp, strange movement. “Crashing through the clouds, I see you burning out—“

Abruptly, he stopped singing and stepped backwards.

Grantaire scrutinised his work with narrowed eyes, turning his head this way and that as if trying to see it from as many angles as possible. One of his eyebrows rose, before furrowing back into a frown. His mouth turned down at one corner and he tapped a finger against his lips. It left a smear of yellow paint, which he didn’t seem to notice. With a shrug, he moved forwards again and signed his name in the corner of the canvas.

With a few last dabs of his brush, he gave up for the day. He plucked the cigarette from behind his ear and held it between his teeth, he’d forgotten about the extra paintbrush and fumbled as it fell to the ground with a clatter and a curse.

He snatched it up with a huff, along with his pack of cigarettes, rinsed the brush quickly and left the room as it had been when he’d come in: a state of increasingly cluttered disrepair.

The air had bite to it, Grantaire paid little attention to it, preoccupied as he was with trying to keep the wind from the unreliable flame of his lighter. A few muffled expletives and aborted sparks later, a steady stream of smoke curled from his mouth.

Some passersby shot disgruntled glances at him, but Grantaire had his eyes on the ground and his head in the clouds and he saw none of it. He found himself wishing vaguely for some sort of screen between him and everything else, headphones maybe. Music was always good for blurring out the rest of the world.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and with clumsy-cold fingers he fished it out. He was scowling down at a text on the screen when his shoulder slammed into someone else’s. Grantaire stumbled as a hand grasped at his shoulder, “Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Grantaire looked up and was struck by a sharp sense of familiarity. It tugged at the pit of his stomach as he looked into a pair of pale eyes. He couldn’t tell what colour they were, light reflecting off the lenses of the boy’s thick rimmed glasses rendered them into an indistinguishable blur. Grantaire was trying to think of what colours he’d have to mix together to try and recreate them when he realized that the boy was speaking.

“Seriously, please say something, tell me if you’re okay,”

Grantaire blinked rapidly and straightened up, “Yeah,” he said, “I’m okay.” The boy’s shoulders relaxed considerably, “God, okay, you were just gaping at me, I was worried for a second there.” Grantaire opened his mouth to reply, but the boy continued speaking, steamrolling over him. “—Look, sorry if this is strange, but you look really familiar, do we know each other?”

Grantaire shifted a little, the boy hadn’t let go of his shoulder, and his eyes were very close and very intense. “I, uh, maybe?”

The boy nodded, dull gold curls falling over his eyes, his fingers left smudges on his glasses when he brushed them away. “I’m Enjolras, don’t make a joke, I’ve heard all of them.”

“Gesundheit,” Grantaire offered. Enjolras’ huff was exasperated, but a little amused. “Wow, I’ve never heard that one before.” 

Grantaire shrugged, “I’m witty as fuck, what can i say?”

Enjolras seemed to seriously consider this, “Your name, for one.” 

“Wise guy, huh?” Grantaire replied snidely. “Name’s Grantaire, most people call me R.” 

“I’m assuming a considerable number say ‘taire’ when faced with you.” 

Grantaire theatrically slapped a hand over his heart and widened his eyes, “Not holding back, are we?” 

Enjolras laughed softly, “I definitely remember you, middle school, we had art together.” 

“You!” Grantaire exclaimed, “You got in an argument with the teacher about the portrayal of female artists in art history!”

Enjolras smiled, his front teeth were crooked and it lent a human element to what would otherwise be pre-raphaelite. “You painted me as ‘Liberty leading the people’,” he agreed, amused.

A flush bloomed in Grantaire’s cheeks, “I… did.” He refused to meet Enjolras’ laughing eyes, “Look, um, my friend Éponine, maybe you remember her? she’s waiting for me…”

The laughter in Enjolras’ face vanished. “Oh,” he pushed his glasses up his nose, “Well then. It was, um, it was nice seeing you. Again.” He turned to leave, panic flooded Grantaire’s gut. “No, wait, I meant maybe we could, like, catch up another time, exchange numbers or friend each other or something.”

Enjolras frowned, “I thought we were already friends?”

It took Grantaire a moment to process what Enjolras had said, “Oh!” he said, laughing, “I meant on Facebook.”

Comprehension dawned. “Yeah! I’ll, uh, look you up.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, he tapped at the screen with an index finger and after a long few moments handed it to Grantaire. “Put your number in, I’ll send you a text so you’ll have mine.”

Grantaire took the phone, trying very hard to hide his grin. He entered his number in the phone and handed it back to Enjolras. “I’ll see you around,” he said, voice coming out far more wistful than he’d intended.

He noticed that Enjolras’ eyes went all crinkly at the corners when he smiled. “Yeah, see you around.”

Enjolras turned and disappeared into the crowd. Grantaire, on autopilot, pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He turned to leave, but his gaze remained fixed in the direction Enjolras had gone. His phone buzzed in his pocket, a text from an unknown number that simply read: “ :) “

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this for english, but i changed the names. everything i touch is exr and everything hurts. except au's. ok. sometimes even au's.
> 
> the song R sings at the beginning is 'all alright' by fun. hence the title.


End file.
